Classics and the Western Canon discussion

Susanna wrote: "However, Shelley's story is obviously fiction. Perhaps, she is saying that Adam's story is probably fiction as well. "

I didn't see any indication that Shelley was making such a suggestion, but in any case, unless we have evidence, I don't think that's a valuable line of discussion for us to follow here. Since we can't know, it would be all speculation, and speculation on any person's view of the meaning or validity of the Bible is not something that I want us to get into.

That said, the parallel between the creation of Adam and the creature is certainly available for discussion, and seems to me, at least, an obvious inspiration for the story.

Susanna wrote: "Lily wrote: Adam from dust, Eve from a rib. Still powerful stories?

I thought Mary Shelley was making a comment on the Adam and Eve story. That is, if you can believe that God created Adam from ..."

Or perhaps she is saying that since Victor is not God, things are not going to go well.

Mary Shelley does say in the 1831 introduction that "...supremely frightful would be the effect of any human endeavour to mock the studpendous mechanism of the Creator of the world." Walton's obsession would only lead to the possible destruction of other humans who chose to go with him. VF's obsession has consequences no one chose.

Kathryn wrote: "Walton's obsession would only lead to the possible destruction of other humans who chose to go with him. VF's obsession has consequences no one chose...."

Kathryn -- Well, on first blush, yes. But, as we well know, opening up the world to additional trade routes has impacted history so long as we have records.

Curiosity may be associated mythically with Pandora's box, but in terms of taking the associated risks, it has been an equally masculine trait -- ala funding Columbus or joining the voyage. (It is doubtful it was intended that smallpox would decimate the native population of North America.)

Yet, Shelley may very well have been attempting to frame the very legitimate questions about what explorations are ethical and which are not. Who might we read on the topic for today's world?

Wait--I'm having trouble following here.
It seems pretty clear that Shelley wants us to compare Walton and Victor in some ways. Both are "driven," let's say (since "obsessed" is loaded). But, Lily, do you think she wanted us to imagine Walton's voyage as unethical, beyond the perils to his own crew? Maybe in the sense of, like Victor, trying to "play God." But I'm not sure what other ethics were of concern in 1818--surely not the sensitivity we have today to issues like bringing smallpox to the New World?

Paul wrote: "To me, animating the monster is a plot development in Frankenstein and not part of the story premise..."

Well said about "premise" vs. "plot development," but I would argue that the creation of the monster is very much the premise of the novel. Without an animated monster, there is no story!

Kathy wrote: "But, Lily, do you think she wanted us to imagine Walton's voyage as unethical, beyond the perils to his own crew? Maybe in the sense of, like Victor, trying to "play God." But I'm not sure what other ethics were of concern in 1818--surely not the sensitivity we have today to issues like bringing smallpox to the New World? ..."

Yes, you are quite right. Shelley may well have considered she was portraying a strong contrast between Frankenstein and Walton in terms of the ethics of their ambition, adventure, and curiosity. All I was trying to say is, approaching 200 years later in a global/space oriented world, we can recognize that either is capable of vast unforeseeable consequences. The evidence is humankind will continue to push against seeming barriers, without being able to predict all relevant outcomes. (Another analogy on a wide scale is the Internet, with all its uses for good and for evil.)

(To really be tangential, consider the care that was taken before sending Curiosity to Mars. Or last night I listened to the producers of Cosmos describe how microorganism have been found that are capable of surviving radiation levels and extreme temperatures far beyond those found naturally on earth.)

Lily wrote @92: "Wendel wrote: "I guess I'm just trying to say that a good story may be spoiled by the voice that tells it…." You lost me, Wendel. Are you saying Tolstoy spoiled the story of Pierre? ..."

That is of course conceivable, but it is not what I meant. Actually, the opposite is more appropriate: „for me, even Tolstoy’s talents could not make W&P palatable". Or, if the shoes don't fit we complain, even if they were bought on Bond Street. Literary quality is no guarantee for us accepting a story.

Back to the original question: why we accept (rather than believe) some fiction with ease, but start quibbling over other stories that are hardly more probable. If literary quality cannot be the whole answer, and just noticing that it’s a personal thing seems a bit uninspired, then what other point of view can we think of?

There is one obvious factor: genres. We have no difficulty following Alice in a rabbit hole, but we would surprised if Pierre Bezukhov tried the same trick (and not only because of his build). So if we do not agree on the credibility of Frankenstein we may have different ideas on the genre it belongs to and therefore different expectations. Because I tend to think of Frankenstein as a fairy tale (somewhat in the Grimm style), veracity is hardly an issue for me.

As to your additional comment: do we need to like the hero or the writer? Certainly not. But we may have a problem if we feel that the main characters in a book are just silly. And even that does not necessarily imply that it is not worth reading.

Kathy wrote: "I would argue that the creation of the monster is very much the premise of the novel. Without an animated monster, there is no story! "

Yes, that's true. So, thinking on, maybe what I mean is that because VF sets out to see whether he can animate matter, it becomes to that extent a story question: the reader wonders, "will he succeed?" And now it comes under Aristotle's rule for necessity and probability.

I think Wendel makes a really good point in @109, that the genre of the story makes a difference. A story in the fantasy genre includes magic, and with magic anything can go (the flying broomsticks of Harry Potter and so on). But even here, once the rules of the magical world have been established, they must be scrupulously adhered to in order to keep the reader's allegiance. For nonfantasy works, I'm thinking that even the premise needs to be justified. My example of "what if Germany had won World War II?" would need some indication, however brief, of what specifically different factor in the world had led to that different outcome.

To me Frankenstein is not a fantasy or a fairy tale, because it does not include magic. It's supposed to be a story about science. Although the monster's animation and his later movements seem to be magical or supernatural, they are not presented that way in the story and are not intended to be seen that way. The horror of Frankenstein derives from the fact that the monster is not a supernatural being like a vampire or a ghost. He is matter, like you and me, that has been animated by a purely natural cause (natural in the sense of making use of natural laws).

So for this reader, the veil that the author has drawn over the principle of the monster's animation is a story flaw--and a serious one.

Wendel wrote: "Elizabeth wrote: "The quote and its reference to a daemon caused me to wonder if Frankenstein's creation (no name?) were actually real or if it is a figment of his imagination."

Or two aspects of ..."

Wendel wrote: "Elizabeth wrote: "The quote and its reference to a daemon caused me to wonder if Frankenstein's creation (no name?) were actually real or if it is a figment of his imagination."

Or two aspects of ..."

I think his monster is certainly his shadow self! Brought to life and inverted -

Wendel wrote @ 109: "Back to the original question: why we accept (rather than believe) some fiction with ease, but start quibbling over other stories that are hardly more probable. If literary quality cannot be the whole answer, and just noticing that it’s a personal thing seems a bit uninspired, then what other point of view can we think of?...i>

The only point of view I can think of is trickery.

With books like Harry Potter, which I haven't read, or Alice in Wonderland, the reader knows these books are fantasy, but with Frankenstein the story begins with some serious letters from an explorer, and was, to me, believable. To elaborate on this, in the book's introduction we are told about Mary Shelley's early years and the suffering she went through with the loss of so many children. I also seem to recall, information about the story being the result of a challenges to people in a room to come up with a scary story. Then Shelley had a dream and this story is the result. These events caused me to think this was some kind of psychological thriller -- all going on in Frankenstein's mind. The only strange event was the 'man' on the sled on the ice and I explained that away to Thomas some time back. Then the story transfers to Frankenstein's youth and were not really given any clue, early on, that this story required a suspension of reality.

I feel like Shelley led us down one path and then tricked us by introducing us to the unbelievable. If by the end of the book we find that Shelley really does want us to believe that Frankenstein made this creature who went around murdering people and suffering from loneliness and isolation, then I'm going to be asking myself about the point of the story and why it is a classic. If the book turns out to be a psychological thriller, then the book will make sense to me.

Regardless, look how much discussion the book has inspired! Is that what makes it a great book?

Paul said @ 110 "To me Frankenstein is not a fantasy or a fairy tale, because it does not include magic. It's supposed to be a story about science. Although the monster's animation and his later movements seem to be magical or supernatural, they are not presented that way in the story and are not intended to be seen that way. The horror of Frankenstein derives from the fact that the monster is not a supernatural being like a vampire or a ghost. He is matter, like you and me, that has been animated by a purely natural cause (natural in the sense of making use of natural laws)"i>

Paul, I don't understand. How this could be a story about science? Even at the time the book was written, alchemy had been relegated to pseudoscience status. If it was a story about science, wouldn't the author be giving us explanations about unexplainable events about the process of infusing life into something made of a variety of body parts from a variety of people?

How can he be "matter, like you and me, that has been animated by a purely natural cause"? He wasn't animated by a natural cause. Nobody has done this even today by compiling a bunch of body parts (although it has been done, but through cloning). If Shelley is using the creature as a metaphor for the experiences in her life, or in the lives of people she know, then surely at the end of the book she will not leave us dangling and expect us to accept that this creature is possible?

I used to read more science fiction back in the day and such requires (at least for me) a certain element needing to be in the whelm of possibility, unlike fantasy. However, I am not disturbed by not knowing the precise mechanism as to how "Charlie" was animated…but felt satisfied with the explanation that with great study and perhaps an obsessive personality…. Frankenstein surpassed his instructors…and developed a basis for understanding how to create life. Perhaps Shelley felt it also might derail the story to delve too much into the "how" (not to mention the difficulty with coming up with a plausible basis..albeit the movie /electricity version did have that element of relative plausibility and I was surprised when Shelley did not employ electricity as having otherwise mentioned it as to the destruction of the tree).

Wendel wrote: "Back to the original question: why we accept (rather than believe) some fiction with ease, but start quibbling over other stories that are hardly more probable. If literary quality cannot be the whole answer, and just noticing that it’s a personal thing seems a bit uninspired, then what other point of view can we think of?"

I'm not sure that there's an objective answer. I would suggest that it is the genius of the writer which is the key element. Just as, for example, Bernie Madoff was able to sell something that any objective realist would have realized was absurd, but sold it very successfully. Just as some politicians can make an idea sound not only convincing but inevitable when a clear-headed evaluation of the idea would prove it highly unlikely or impossible, just as some true believes can sell people on the existence of a Bigfoot or Loch Ness Monster, a great author knows how to sell a story, and make it convincing, as we read it, even though as we rationally examine it later we say "well, that would never happen." But that doesn't change the fact that we were sucked into the willing suspension of disbelief.

Bobbi wrote: "
I think his monster is certainly his shadow self! Brought to life and inverted - "

Interesting thought. Quite different from the idea that it was all in his imagination.

I would love to see you develop your idea a bit. In what ways is it his shadow self, what aspects of it (if any) are genuine VF and what aspects are inverted VF?

…and sometimes we just want to believe…great and mysterious things can provide some spice to life.

Sue wrote: "…and sometimes we just want to believe…great and mysterious things can provide some spice to life."

I don't believe it; I suspend disbelief. It's a "What if?" Sort of book. I think the most interesting and well done part of it is the study of Victor's thoughts and reactions. Oh, and the creature's self-education. That's really well done.

Laurele wrote: "I don't believe it; I suspend disbelief. It's a "What if?" Sort of book."

I like that distinction.

Another way of looking at it is that we accept (believe in) the premise for the sake of the argument. For example, assume that I go to college and become a doctor. What will my life be like? Not that I'm likely to go to college and become a doctor, but that doesn't matter to following the "what if" train of thought.

Laurele wrote: " Oh, and the creature's self-education. That's really well done. "

We haven't talked about that yet, have we? I'm not sure it was totally convincing, but it was a realistic scenario. I suspect that those who teach ESL to adults (or really teach any foreign language to adults) would recognize much in there that is quite realistic.

Which raises a question I thought about earlier. If people have souls, and I think for Mary Shelley that would probably have been a given, an "of course," the does Charlie have a soul? And if so, is it the soul of the body that the brain (or some other part if you think the soul rests elsewhere in the body) originally resided in, or is it a brand new virgin soul?

The soul part is the toughest nut to crack in the entire book. None of the body parts would have a soul--the soul would have departed the body at death. Thus the creature would have to possess a different type of soul, that imparted by 'unhallowed art' (some sort of alchemy or witchcraft.) See my note at section 1c, where I talk about the 1831 preface.

His ability to learn quickly through a sort of second-hand process was interesting. His progress from very rudimentary understanding of his senses to being able to read and speak at a sophisticated level was faster than I would have anticipated.

Was there some "residual" knowledge in the brain or was it a "muscle memory" that assisted his rapid progress?

Susan from MD wrote: "...His progress from very rudimentary understanding of his senses to being able to read and speak at a sophisticated level was faster than I would have anticipated. ..."

Another aspect that turned me off the first times I tried to read Frankenstein. I decided this time that wasn't what the story was about, but much more about the significance of the creator caring for the created, i.e., much more what might be called a whole-istic examination rather than a dualistic analytical one.

Having recently read Ovid's many stories of transformation (probably more human to plant, however) and if I could suspend belief to allow Pygmalion's statue to live, I decided to see what would happen to the story for me if I chose not to care so much about how the creature became increasingly human-like -- just know that it did.

Maybe I was influenced, too, by the current prevalence of fantasy and even science fiction genre, although I would have wanted a science fiction version to have stronger links to scientific knowledge.

The rapid time line didn't really bother me, but it just seemed to be an interesting choice. The creature's physical prowess seemed to develop quickly so perhaps it was just a parallel intellectual progression. Alternatively, maybe MS just wanted to keep the story moving!

Susan from MD wrote: "Was there some "residual" knowledge in the brain or was it a "muscle memory" that assisted his rapid progress?
"

I wondered about that, too. If the heart "remembered" how to beat, the legs how to walk (he didn't start out physically as an infant, as he basically did intellectually), would the brain have remembered at least something of what it knew in life? (Well, at least he knew to eat nuts and berries, so maybe there was some memory there, just not for language.) Shelley doesn't do a very good job of explaining how he knows what he knows and doesn't know what he doesn't know, does she?

As to whether the brain remembers after death, we should keep this question in mind when, in about four weeks, we get to the Meno, which deals almost directly with this (among many other) issues.

But like you, I did wonder a bit about what the re-animated brain should and shouldn't have known.

Lily wrote: "Another aspect that turned me off the first times I tried to read Frankenstein. I decided this time that wasn't what the story was about, but much more about the significance of the creator caring for the created, i.e., much more what might be called a whole-istic examination rather than a dualistic analytical one.
"

I agree completely. The actual process of creation is really the prelude to the story. The meat of the story, as I'm reading it so far, is in a number of very interesting philosophical-moral questions -- how man becomes what he becomes, our obligation to our children, the roles of nature and nurture in personal development, the responsibility of a person to clean up the messes they make, among many others.

Everyman wrote: "Lily wrote: "Another aspect that turned me off the first times I tried to read Frankenstein. I decided this time that wasn't what the story was about, but much more about the significance of the cr..."

Exactly, Everyman. Those who want to read it as science fiction must keep in mind that it comes before all other science fiction books. If you read it as a gothic novel, just remember how awful most other gothic novels were, especially "The Monk," whose author was among the party at Geneva that summer.

Laurele wrote: "...just remember how awful most other gothic novels werei..."

They really were, weren't they! Even The Mysteries of Udolpho, which is one of the better gothics, is hardly great writing.

Elizabeth wrote: "How this could be a story about science? Even at the time the book was written, alchemy had been relegated to pseudoscience status. If it was a story about science, wouldn't the author be giving us explanations about unexplainable events about the process of infusing life into something made of a variety of body parts from a variety of people?

How can he be "matter, like you and me, that has been animated by a purely natural cause"? He wasn't animated by a natural cause...."

Hi Elizabeth. I only meant that there appears to be no supernatural cause or principle involved in the monster's creation. VF abandoned alchemical studies for chemical ones, and became a scientist. And you're making my exact point when you ask whether the author shouldn't be giving us explanations. The principle may be unexplainable in real terms, but it isn't in fictional terms. If it's a creative challenge, well, that's what fiction writers are supposed to solve!

For this reader, it would be have been sufficient if VF had said something like, "I created a Voltaic pile of unprecedented size and power, and of a special design that I won't reveal." One sentence would have done it.

I see that Alessandro Volta first published his experiments in 1800, and that his invention built on the work of Luigi Galvani in the 1780s. When Galvani discovered that electricity could make the muscles of a severed frog's leg contract, it must have sent a, well, jolt through intellectual society at the time. Since our movements--our animation--are entirely the result of muscular action, it would certainly look as though this strange power of electricity were no other than the vital principle that had so long been sought. It would seem that Frankenstein was inspired by this nexus of ideas.

Making causes explicit is part of what connects a story's events by "probability or necessity," and thus makes it compelling, instead of something for which excuses need to be made. Anyway, it would have done so for this reader, and I'm sure many others.

Paul wrote: "...Anyway, it would have done so for this reader, and I'm sure many others...."

Paul -- we're obviously different readers -- an unexplained Voltaic pile would probably have just frustrated me more. (Possibly one of the reasons I don't read a lot of science, despite my training. One answer too often leads to another question.) But I am very sympathetic to your position, because as far as I can tell from what you have been saying, yours are basically among the reasons I have never cottoned to this story. Only by giving it a different thematic frame have I been able to even really read it.

@126Everyman wrote: "...our obligation to our children, ..., the responsibility of a person to clean up the messes they make,..."

My intuitive reaction to the story has been to relate it more to the creations of human intellect and prowess and less to biological offspring, although certainly both analogies can be made. Perhaps that inclination derives in part from lack of a conception and birthing process being described. I wonder what would be the reaction to any female writer today writing Frankenstein. This strikes me as much more a story of male (Zeus-Athena like) procreation rather than feminine. (All this, even though I do comment elsewhere on the parallels with bonding, parental or maternal, with a child, i.e., the familial structures of love and support.)

I'm fascinated by the discussion of the different genres into which readers are putting this novel, which I have always read as very early science fiction. As Laurele points out, it actually precedes the genre itself. That in itself qualifies it, in my mind, as a classic. There are many books that may seem unimpressive to us, coming to them as we do with a much later sensibility, but that in their time were doing something inventive and groundbreaking.

My Webster's Encyclopedia of Literature defines science fiction this way: "Fiction dealing principally with the impact of actual or imagined science upon society or individuals, or more generally, literary fantasy including a scientific factor as an essential orienting component. Such literature may consist of a careful and informed extrapolation of scientific facts and principles, or it may range into far-fetched areas flatly contradictory of such facts and principles. In either case, plausibility based on science is a requisite, so that such a precursor of the genre as Mary Shelley's gothic novel Frankenstein (1818) is science fiction, whereas Bram Stoker's Dracula, based as it is purely on the supernatural, is not. Science fiction proper began, however, toward the end of the 19th century with the scientific romances of Jules Verne, whose science was rather on the level of invention, as well as the science-oriented novels of social criticism by H.G.Wells..."

It was hardly credible that Martians were invading Earth, but War of the Worlds made quite a splash. It's hardly credible that Frankenstein sewed together a bunch of body parts and created a living being, but who cares? What we read for is to find out what happens next. The moral and psychological blowback is what makes this novel so powerful.

For some great gothic fiction, try Wilkie Collins' The Woman in White. I've also heard The Moonstone is terrific.

Kathy,your explanation @ msg 132 is appreciated. Thank you.

Paul wrote: "...For this reader, it would be have been sufficient if VF had said something like, "I created a Voltaic pile of unprecedented size and power, and of a special design that I won't reveal." One sentence would have done it...."

Paul -- your comment came back to haunt me today as I was reading a critic (see spoiler below for the convoluted details) on another book and I wondered if Shelley couldn't have benefited by having you as her editor. Certainly a galvanic effect could have been credible. Who knows -- I might not even have gotten waylaid on earlier readings?

Anyway, an attempt to trace the convolutions of thought: (view spoiler)[

I was reading a criticism of Balthazar of The Alexandria Quartet and how Balthazar questions, without reading, the truth he imagines Darley (a writer) has tried, to B's suspicions unsuccessfully, to capture as primary narrator of Justine. Balthazar is only partially correct, but he reveals much Darley did not, suggesting, as Durrell intended, the incompleteness of any one perspective. Besides bouncing to Frankenstein, my thoughts jumped to a criticism I had made earlier in the morning about another book, wanting more information than the writer provided about a character based on a historical figure. Even as I had written the post, I had been reminded of our Frankenstein discussion and of a talk I had heard the previous day. In that talk, the speaker had commented on "the dualistic character of the post-Enlightenment mind," i.e., the insistence on applying rational either-or judgement to every situation. He contrasted that with wholeness (holiness) -- the ability to see first and to honor that which is, without judgement. Then, to consciously bring rational analysis and judgment to the situation. Somehow, all this coalesced into sort of a tool to bring to reading -- to see and to accept the text just as an author had given it and then to consciously shift to judging and analyzing that text -- with a greater awareness of the wholeness as the author had conceived (created) it, given all the gifts and shortcomings he/she had brought to the writing. I had had a similar experience to yours of wanting to slightly modify a passage, in my case Sue Monk Kidd's The Invention of Wings, where to my mind two words could have significantly heightened the suspense of an anecdote that followed. But, in terms of the whole impact of the book, I've decided I needed to accede to the author, even while savoring the discernment that brought the criticism. (I was also influenced in this reverie by Kathy's comments about books unimpressive to later sensibilities that may have been inventive and groundbreaking when written.) Enough of my convoluted thoughts. Thanks if you took the time to read them. (hide spoiler)]

Lily wrote: "Somehow, all this coalesced into sort of a tool to bring to reading -- to see and to accept the text just as an author had given it and then to consciously shift to judging and analyzing that text -- with a greater awareness of the wholeness as the author had conceived (created) it, given all the gifts and shortcomings he/she had brought to the writing."

Nicely put. An excellent reading approach imho.